It was a gorgeous day. No humidity, faint breeze, wisps of white clouds – the kind of day that hints autumn is around the corner even as summer lingers. I was walking along the old rails-to-trails path behind my house.
Several miles from home, far from any roads or accesses points, something unusual happened. You’d think I’d feel the vibration underneath my feet. Or hear the motor as it approached. Nope. You’d think I’d notice the odd way my dog was acting as he kept looking over his shoulder.
I was eating lunch outside on an early autumn day last week. The breeze was gentle, but the air tingled with a hint of cooler days to come. From the side of my patio, I felt a flicker of movement and sensed something coming toward me. In the split second I turned my head to look, the sensation was gone and the tree beside me stood still.
Just the breeze, I thought, as I went back to work on my salad. Then I saw another flash of motion in that same tree. I decided it must be one of the hummingbirds that have been zipping around my house all summer.
I made a big dent in the salad before I saw the movement again. This time I had the sense of something floating from a high branch to a lower one, far too slow to be a hummingbird. A leaf on the gentle breeze? A falling limb? My curiosity got the best of me.
My dog, Buddy, hates one of my cats. At least that’s the way I’ve always interpreted their relationship. Tiger is at the head of the pet hierarchy, and Buddy, at the bottom.
I’ve seen evidence of this as the dog remained trapped on the patio, despite a wide-open door, simply because the cat was glaring at him. I’ve heard Buddy whine, confined to the bathroom because Tiger was blocking the exit. I’ve watched Buddy jump off his comfy spot on the couch, just because Tiger walked into the room.
Imagine my surprise then, when I found them laying side by side on my bed. What was this? Could it be the end of the world – when the lion lays down with the lamb? Possible, but unlikely. Could they have somehow not noticed each other? I watched for a few minutes, and they watched me back. It was clear they were aware of each other. Had they called a truce? That would be awesome. I get tired of their incessant meowing and barking arguments as they steal each other’s food, and chase each other around the house.
Peace seemed possible for the next half hour. They lay side by side without a meow or growl. I thought they looked cute and snapped a few photos. They didn’t move. I marveled at their adorable behavior and considered giving them each a treat. Then doubt crept in. What if they were sick? Or what if they were plotting something behind my back, communicating through animal pheromones?
A few nights ago, my dog, Buddy, and I were out for our evening walk on a winding country road that goes up and down several hills. As we came to the crest of one of those hills, I was startled to see a baby bear about 40 feet away, eating a snack of trash on the side of the road.
He was as adorable and fluffy as any stuffed one I’d ever seen, and I really wanted to get closer for a better look. Or at least I did until I heard the footsteps of something quite large just over the side of the hill. Assuming it was Mama Bear, Buddy and I sprinted off.
Earlier today, my daughter thought she heard a mouse under her bed. It was ironic, because the exterminator had been there only an hour earlier and saw no problems. That should have reassured us, as should the fact we have two chronically hungry cats. Nevertheless, there we were, fretting about a possible mouse under the bed.
Picture two grown women, rubbing their chins and nervously eyeing a perfectly innocent bed. My daughter kicked it a few times from her desk chair, with her feet safely off the floor in case anything scampered out. Nothing happened. I listened intently for any sign of squeaking or scratching. No sounds except the gentle hum of the air-conditioning unit. One of us was just going to have to take a peek.
